


The Edgiest Fairytale

by gyromitra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Fairytale Crack, M/M, please stop giving me ideas, something, this is...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: 1. Witch Mercy is overworked.2. Angel Mercy can't be trusted with fortune telling (but she IS accurate).3. There should be an arranged marriage (maybe possibly).4. Gabriel certainly is NOT a fairytale princess (to be seen).AMENDED:4. Gabriel is a fairytale princess (but it's an affliction, dammit!).5. Jack is a Prince Charming (a real curse).6. Wyverns.AKA blame someone else for this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pupnutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pupnutie/gifts), [anaet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaet/gifts).



Arranged royal marriages were always a bit tricky. One thing was distance, another thing was the prospective bride and groom’ compatibility of characters. And genders. Let’s not forget genders.

Other things to look out for always included: curses, special marks, things gripped in newborn’s hand, spurned sorceresses, unjustly killed wild game, possession, prophecies, promises to supernatural beings, and the general magic entity dickery.

Both parties, with a generations-long tradition of conceiving only sons, were considerably sure they were getting a girl, all thanks to that one sorceress that drunkenly stumbled from one baby shower to another, and always blurted out something about the future.

“Ye Gods, this one will be a real drama queen!” She exclaimed while wavering on her legs.

“Welp, I see a husband,” she almost spilled her drink on priceless silks. “Real Prince Charming there.”

The deal was sealed faster than the alcohol disappeared around Angel Mercy.

*

Witch Mercy, on the other hand, was completely sober, when she bowed over the cradle.

“Oh, you little bundle of joy, when you reach your thirteenth year, you will prick your… no, no,  something else, something else, I used that one recently… on your eighteenth birthday you will eat a berry and… no, not that one…”

“Ma’am, could you hurry a bit?” The guard coughed discretely. “There are other invited guests waiting to see the child.”

“Oh, sod it all!” Witch Mercy exclaimed. “Everything you touch will die!” She turned in a huff and went for aperitifs. The parents looked at each other. Really, it could have been much worse, he could have been cursed with bad musical taste.

On the other side of the mountains, a few days later, Witch Mercy was again having problems. There was just too many aristocratic children being born all around the world recently, and her creativity was growing thin.

“Fuck it! On your eighteenth birthday, you will lay in Death’s embrace and only true love’s kiss will wake you up!” King and Queen quickly exchanged glances. The wedding would have to be a bit hurried, after all, and they would have to make sure to have a lot of pretty chaste help around the castle as a backup plan.

The real problem with magic always was being too general. When one was not precise and exact in their wording and intent, the results tended to be very unpredictable, while, to the extent, exactly what was ordered.

*

Gabriel’s ‘condition’ necessitated complex and through testing. They started with a pair of mice. The result was inconclusive since the first mouse buggered off the second day from the cage (though there were some that claimed it had outside help), and the other one passed peacefully a month later from overeating.

Next came a pair of cats. The tabby fell soon prey to the ravens that somehow took to nesting on the roof just above the nursery – the gruesome murder was discovered by a wet nurse prone to hysterics who disappeared two days later (some insisted on foul play involved but she had been seen leaving town with a stable boy on the night in question) – but the calico seemed to prefer staying inside and promptly took up a permanent residence in the kitchens where food and scratches were plentiful.

As a last resort came a pig. After two years it was decided that such a specimen of pork was simply wasted sitting in the special pen in the gardens. Besides, the Queen complained about the smell on her evening strolls. The late dinner on that day was especially savory.

Jack, on the other hand, was a lively active toddler that made art out of slipping away from his caretakers. And each and every time he miraculously avoided death. Like the time he somehow managed to climb battlements and one guard broke both legs when he tripped while trying to retrieve the prince wobbling on the edge just above the moat. Jack just laughed, clapped his hands, and then pointed down.

“Boom, boom, ouch!” The child exclaimed happily among distressed screams of all involved.

*

When both boys were six, it was decided it would be wise to introduce them to each other and let them socialize a bit since they were supposed to tie the knot in foreseeable future. There were also minute details of the treaty to be discussed.

Gabriel, with his hair cropped short and in loose clothing just like all children his age were wont to be, warily eyed Jack. Jack, fussy after a whole week of travel – in one of his best blue frilly skirts with lace everywhere and his long blond hair curled properly like was traditional for boys his age – pouted at him.

The children were left in the garden while the adults debated (and imbibed). The pleasant atmosphere was too soon cut short by the unholy wailing coming from the outside.

Gabriel was thrashing on the ground. Jack was sitting a bit further and crying in earnest with a generous helping of snot he was just now wiping with his sleeve.

“I am murdered! My life cut short! Stabbed in the back!”

“I… I just… poked… the arm!”

“Woe is me! The treason! The betrayal!” Gabriel certainly had an impressive vocabulary for a six-year-old. Jack started hiccupping while repeating how sorry he was.

“Jackie, what did you…?”

“Oh, don’t worry! Gabi will tire out soon,” the Queen winked. “Let’s leave the children to play.”

Soon obviously meant half an hour later. Gabriel was still lying on the ground and doing his best impersonation of a dead body – it was not very good. He was not prepared for something cold, slimy and plump, not to mention moving, to land on his face. With an indignant squawk, he caught the offending creature and glared at Jack standing above him with an open hand and a very hard look on his face.

“I brought you a frog. Everybody likes frogs.”

Well, Gabriel decided, no one who gave him frogs could be completely bad. When the rash set in next day it became obvious it was, in fact, not a frog but a toad. One could not fault a six-year-old for a lack of knowledge and experience in distinguishing between different kinds of very similar amphibians – even if that six-year-old was a little petty vindictive shit. But that was after the both parties separated – each secretly deeply relieved the other’s child was a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

At eleven years of age, Gabriel was everything a young prince should be, and much, much more. He was well-mannered although a tad overdramatic – but this particular quirk had followed him through childhood and wasn’t entirely unwelcome. After all, every prince should know his way around a proper soliloquy, even if it were only to woo his prospective princess.

Gabriel has also shown a strong interest in theater and poetry, warranting many a performance staged before the court, starting from a monthly thing, then escalating to biweekly, and finally - to the utmost terror of the courtiers - to weekly shows. When his repertoire grew to include, of all things, interpretative dance, the frequency of staged performances was forcibly cut down again to a monthly schedule to the silent relief of all involved.

Gabriel also did care about the animals, so much in fact that some of the ravens nesting over the former nursery gave up their ability of flight and waddled around on the ground, too heavy to fly more than a few meters in one go.

The Queen herself was also slightly skeptical over his choice in reading material, which mostly included romances, tutorials on black magic and hexing handbooks. Why couldn’t he develop a stronger inclination towards necromancy, for example, as was a longlived family tradition? The King assured her it was certainly merely a phase.

Gabriel also was ‘not going to marry no girl’. Certainly, the Toad Incident had no bearing on that little pronouncement.

*

At the tender age of eleven, Jack was a little shit everyone expected him to be.

*

The first time Gabriel had disappeared was just after his twelfth birthday and it was absolutely not connected to the fact he did not get that pony he wanted so much – the Queen decisively said no to any horse with eternal flames around its hooves. He ran away from home but came back two days later because in true ‘youthful rebellion spirit’ fashion he had forgone any provisions.

He brought back a puppy he promptly named Ripper. No-one had the heart to take it away even when the puppy turned out to be a hellhound leaving scorched and burned-out marks in the carpet or on the furniture every time Gabriel had forgotten to walk it outside. Some semblance of peace and relative quiet was unquestionably worth suffering a faint aroma of sulfur in the air.

*

The first time Jack had disappeared was just after his twelfth birthday and was in no way connected to the fact he did get that stallion he was promised. He returned a week later with a bag of jewelry, a minotaur head as a trophy, and a very confused scantily-clad voluptuous blonde in front of his saddle.

Said blonde murmured: ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’, then asked for directions and went back home.

Jack was grounded for the following month – incidentally, two wyvern attacks and a giant rat invasion happened in the meantime. The next time he got grounded (which included a peace envoy from remote orc tribe begging for a ceasefire), there was a snake population explosion and the castle’s rafters got infested with dire bats.

“Prince Charming curse,” the royal astrologers agreed.

After the Queen wanted to take her bath and accidentally dipped herself in black slime which started breeding in the piping, her and the King reached a strained consensus: let the prince do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and preferably outside the city, so the curse finds other outlets. The prince was virtually immortal, anyway.

*

When ravens had left the roof over ‘the nursery-turned-Gabriel’s private chambers’ (pronounced ‘Hell’ by a garish wooden plaque carved with a kitchen knife with added ‘No trespassing’ below and ‘Specially no girls allowed!’ nailed almost on the ground level - the servants, on the other hand, took to calling the place ‘The pit of disrepair and dirty underclothes’), it was a definite relief.

Until the moment it became painfully apparent the ravens left because the roof had been taken up by a mated pair of wyverns.

Gabriel reveled in the development – everyone else lived in fear of sleepless nights due to wyverns serenading each other and getting hit with the excrement when they did take to the skies occasionally (the Duchess still cried when she had to venture outside). The chicks took liking to chasing the courtiers down and then nipping at their calves.

“It’s a Fairytale Princess syndrome,” the royal medic had explained while nodding mournfully. “A very rare variant of the affliction. We call it Dark Princess.”

“What are we supposed to do!?” The Queen hyperventilated.

“It’s best to let it run its course, it usually fades in the forties, or after the marriage.”

When it came to light that certain encroaching fauna did follow Gabriel around, his solitary trips into the forests were… slightly encouraged. After few months, the prince managed to haul half of his belongings into rundown shack in the middle of the woods and spent there most of the time not taken up by his lessons or other interests.

*

Magic, as usual, found a way to slot everything into place, and screw up all and any contingency plans that were already in place, so the fact that both princes somehow managed to wander into each other’s presence should not surprise anyone.

Thirteen years old Gabriel detested interlopers, especially the ones that had no appreciation for his art, just like the blonde that apparently had ripped a bone off his scarecrow and was now throwing it for Ripper to retrieve. The traitorous dog brought it to him and then rolled onto its back, showing its belly, and expecting scratches from the total stranger.

“Who’s a good doggie!” The blonde cooed while obliging, not minding the puff of fire the hellhound exhaled excitedly. “You’re a good doggie! Yes, yes, you!”

So Gabriel decided to scare him off like all the others.

“Who dares to intrude on Death’s domain!” He did his best voice and cape flourish. The blonde looked up and his face scrunched up in obvious displeasure.

“This is really disappointing.” Clearly, this was not a reaction Gabriel was gunning for.

“What?”

“I was expecting some kind of demon, or at least a witch, after all the stories I’ve heard.” To add insult to injury, the blonde had not stopped petting Ripper in the meantime.

“I am Death incarnate and I will devour your soul!”

“And you’re just some kid in a lame costume.”

“No, I’m not! I’m a demon!”

“Sure. That’s why the stitching on the sleeve is coming apart?”

“Uh… no?”

“And why you have human hands?”

“Um…”

“And why is your mask just flat? It doesn’t even cover your entire face.”

“I…”

“So,” the blonde got up and Ripper, being the stinking turncoat it was, whined loudly, “see you ‘round.”

Gabriel stared at the other boy that had the damn audacity to wave at him before disappearing behind the line of trees.

And that was the whole story of how Gabriel took up crafts – because he was going to show that blonde buffoon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still a thing, non-native speaker, and else. Probably The Mark or Superhero thing will be next.


	3. Chapter 3

It was, on the whole, a pleasant late morning in the gardens – even if the wyverns had already started on their daily routine of unearthly screeches of affection. It did take some time getting used to but at least they kept the rat population down, and courtiers even named all three chicks that were now the size of a well-fed pig each, probably thanks to the pouches used to keep scraps of meat that were all the fashion rage at the court nowadays. Red Menace was actually lounging in the fountain, Little Mean Fucker was digging in the roses, and Leg Humper was playing with Ripper.

A usual morning, all things considered, the King surmised, at least until something fleshy-pink waddled slowly to the table. The Kind set down his cup and stared down the abomination. After closer inspection, it had a head of a black bird, an imposing beak, lacked a scaly tail, and one most certainly would be hardpressed to refer to it as cuddly or cute. The abomination tilted its head to the side and observed the King back with a peculiar kind of intellectual curiosity.

Then it cawed.

And, with a strange flowing melodic cadence, added, “fuck my finger.”

“My love,” the King addressed the Queen, “it seems we have some sort of a new infestation.”

“Is it trying to kill you?” The Queen did not look up from her embroidery. She was at the most stirring point right now and pitied be any fool that made her put away her needles.

“No, love, it told me to fuck its finger.”

“Maybe Gabi is finally taking his necromancy studies with the proper seriousness that befits his age.”

“Fuck my finger,” the abomination repeated waddling closer, much to the King’s chagrin. “Thread!”

“And now it wants thread.”

“There are some silk scraps in the basket I won’t be using, dear, help yourself,” the Queen nodded. After all, she should not be expected to do everything around here.

“Very well, my love,” the King acquiesced and, after choosing the right thread, lowered it towards the abomination. The creature happily clamped its beak on the prize and turned around, right in time for Gabriel to swoop running into its sight. It hopped gleefully in place. Gabriel grabbed it with bandaged fingers while swearing creatively under his breath. “Care to explain, Gabi?”

The young prince looked down at the abomination in his arms and shuffled on his feet.

“I needed feathers for my new cloak so I plucked Muninn and the scoundrel run away?” Gabriel explained fast, ready to bolt. The Queen sighed. There went all hope their offspring finally conformed with the generations-long family tradition of necromancy. Well, it couldn’t be worse than the impromptu interpretative dance recitals.

“Fuck my finger,” the raven agreed and then affectionately pecked one of the young prince’s bandaged fingers.

“Ow, you foul wretched beast, see if I rescue you from the felines again! I’ll put you on display in a cage for all your friends to see and ridicule!”

Suffice to say, the first real forays into the realm of the dedicated art of sewing did not entirely agree with Gabriel.

*

Gabriel also would first be caught dead than admit that he was looking forward to the promised next meeting with the blonde lout just to see his face now, after all the soul-crushing suffering he poured into his new coat adorned with raven feathers. To be frank, Muninn and Huginn were the first of many sacrifices after he decided one too many a time to change his design, and now he had a flock of quite naked ravens to look after back at home.

Alas, after several months of missing the blonde yokel and finding instead scraps of parchment nailed to his door written in illegible chicken scratch (all burned later) and maybe a time or two his bed looked slept in and there was some free chopped firewood (sometimes it did get cold in the woods), Gabriel lost all hope, at least until he heard the happy yipping of the traitorous Ripper mingled together with screeches of one of the wyvern chicks. And then…

“Good doggie, I got something for you!”

“Ha,” Gabriel opened the door to his hut with a bang, “this is you again, and this time I’m going to suck out your life!”

The blonde looked up from Ripper and Little Mean Fucker gorging themselves on some big slab of meat and whistled with appreciation – and no, Gabriel didn’t feel all warm inside, and even if he did, it was the anger, yes, definitely the anger, and maybe a tad extreme dislike.

“Now, this is so much better,” the boy nodded. “It’s almost stylish. And you got gloves. The mask still sucks, though,” he added, petting Ripper absentmindedly. “Besides, the sucking thing, you mean like a vampire? Vampires are not demons, and last time you said soul.”

“You won’t sway me with words this time, trespasser!” Gabriel, remembering their previous exchange, positively bristled. “Your end is coming and no force under the sky will stop me!”

“Right. Name’s Jack,” the blonde boy grinned, extending his hand. Gabriel regarded it with contempt. It was kind of dirty, but when he did look closer, it seemed more like blood, not just grime. There was also a horse standing at the edge of the clearing with a deer strapped to its back.

“Reaper,” Gabriel offered after a long pause, ignoring the hand.

“Right.” Jack squinted at him. “Not Death?”

“What?”

It was at that moment that Little Mean Fucker finally decided to live up to its moniker and chomped on the blonde’s hand.

*

Gabriel was just finishing wrapping up Jack’s hand (with his own linens that he had brought here himself, to boot!) when the simpleton, ignoring all subtle clues, decided it was time for another dim-witted attempt at conversation.

“She’s a feisty girl, ain’t she?”

“Girl?” Gabriel scrunched his face in distaste. “It is naught but a beast!”

“Well, no, she has girl ridges. It’s a girl,” the blonde patted Little Mean Fucker’s head with his left hand. The wyvern was sitting by the table, hunkered down, and visibly considering chomping on the other offending appendage. Silently, Gabriel was kind of, a little, cheering it on.

“Girls are a plague upon this world.”

“Yeah,” Jack squinted again at him which gave his face decidedly dumb expression, not that any other looked better on the blonde, Gabriel was sure. “But they have breasts?”

“The harpy I will not wed has no bosoms!”

“Arranged marriage, huh? I feel you.”

“And what could a lout such as you fathom about the curse that overshadows my desperate life as a prince!?” Gabriel tied off the bandage hard delighting in the wince it earned him.

“I’m a prince too,” Jack snickered, raising one of his eyebrows. “The gentry is everywhere.”

“Prince of yokels, I assume.”

“Meh. So how’s yours like?”

“She is a sniveling wretch that tried to murder me with poison,” Gabe muttered remembering ‘The Shrew, Her-Of-The-Toad-To-Face-Incident’. The prospective presence of possible bosoms was no redeeming quality in his mind.

“Mine is a screaming melodramatic harpy,” Jack sighed, remembering ‘The Bitch, The-One-That-Definitely-Deserved-A-Toad-To-Her-Face’. Nothing excused the hissy fit she threw. Nothing. Jack would never admit he was simply scared of her.

“And it interests me not so you can go now and never come back,” Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the blonde accusingly. “You slept in my bed and I had to air all my sheets to get rid of the smell and fleas!”

“Well, you weren’t there, and it’s your dog that has fleas. They are big bloodthirsty buggers, right.”

“And you ate from my dishes!”

“I washed them up. Your seasonings suck, by the way,” Jack pointed to the shelf. Gabriel looked to his reagents and then at the blonde, with a certain amount of aghast acknowledgment. “One made me burp bubbles for a week.”

“How are you even still alive, you daft imbecile?”

“I’m immortal?”

Any line of questioning Gabriel wanted to pursue was cut short by Mean Little Fucker when she finally decided to go for the prize dangled before her lizard eyes.

The current tally was two points in favor of the wyverns.


End file.
